The Carter Household Holiday Rules
by Soleya
Summary: It's Sam's first Thanksgiving in nine years without SG-1, but an unexpected visitor may bring more than she'd hoped for.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own them. This would all be official if I did. Failing that...

Author's Note: Yes, yes, everyone's done a holiday story. This is my version, started several years ago and only recently finished. A thousand thank yous to my betas, Sammie and Polrobin - as usual, a few of the best moments came straight from Pol.

This is rated a STRONG T, but I don't think it deserves an M by any means - you'd see this on prime time TV any day of the week. Nonetheless, you've been warned. Enjoy!

* * *

The Carter Household Holiday Rules

"Okay, who volunteers to butcher the turkey?"

A little blonde boy raced into the kitchen and skidded to a perilous socked halt on the the hardwood. "I'll do it!"

"I'll do it!" his sister answered almost simultaneously, her young hand already reaching for the butcher knife her mother held.

Lifting the implement high in the air and out of reach of her daughter, Ellie Carter shot her children her patented 'Mom Look' and turned to the other two adults hovering in the doorway. Hunger had the kitchen packed. "Okay, let me rephrase: which _adult_ who is _not_ me and _is_ allowed to play with knives volunteers to butcher the turkey?"

Mark Carter grinned and turned on his baby sister. "You've got mad knife skills, right, Miss Mortal Kombat?"

"Oh, yeah. That's what they teach us in Basic, actually. Field strip this M-16 first, then carve up that turkey," Sam shot back. "So if you really want it butchered, I'm probably your girl. But otherwise..."

This time, the adults earned The Look, but it only made them smile. "Husband," Ellie pressed super-sweetly, "no one eats until this bird gets carved."

"Good Lord, man, what are you waiting for?" Sam teased, and her brother crossed the kitchen with a grumble. With the turkey in capable hands, Sam started shuttling hot serving dishes to the dining room table, moving deftly around the six-year-old boy with his hands full of forks and the already tall ten-year-old cautiously pouring milk (for the kids) and wine (for the rest) and carrying the glasses to the table as well.

It was complete and total chaos, and Sam loved it.

Soon enough, Mark entered with a platter heaped dangerously high with poultry, and Sam settled into her chair – Mark sat on her right at the head of the table, Sydney, the oldest, sat on the end to her left, and Ellie and little David took up the other side of the table. Ellie eyed the deconstructed bird with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Mark defended.

"I worry about you sometimes, dear," she answered. "Everything you cut is a little less than straight."

His sister couldn't hide her snort of laughter. "She has a point. But E for effort," she assured him.

Mark just sighed. "Let's say grace."

"Grace!" Sydney shouted, which didn't help her poor aunt contain herself at all. But they soon settled, their blonde heads dipping as they joined hands.

"Father," Ellie spoke up confidently, "thank you for this food, this home, and all that we have. But most of all, thank you for family – for those with us today, those who can't be, and those who already feast at your eternal table. Amen."

"Amen," Sam echoed softly with the table, but the last part hit hard. Their father's death was months past but still a little fresh – it never ceased to amaze her how the littlest thing could bring it all back. And when she glanced up and found Mark still holding her hand, well after everyone else had let go, she knew he felt it, too. Shooting him a quick smile, she freed her hand to take a sip of her wine before diving headlong into another subject. "Ellie, I kind of expected your family to be here today."

"Oh, yeah," the woman answered easily, not distracted from preparing a plate for her youngest. "But Evan, my oldest brother, only has today off, and then he has to work all weekend. Slave drivers," she groaned. "So my parents are in Seattle with him today so he doesn't have to travel. We'll all get together here in town Sunday."

Suddenly Sam felt awful for coming – she'd sort of invited herself, she supposed, never thinking that they'd have other plans. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was keeping you from-"

"From what? A several hour round-trip plane ride with Trouble One and Trouble Two here for just one day?" Ellie challenged, eliciting giggles from her two children. "Oh, that wasn't going to happen anyway."

"But Mommy, I _like_ planes!" David insisted.

"Yeah, me, too. I used to think they were peaceful. And then I had children." With a smile, she added, "Besides, it means we finally let Rob take that ski trip he's wanted for... forever."

"His best friend's family goes to Aspen every year," Mark explained. "And we've always told him family was too important, but he'll be home for the big Sunday bash. And that means you don't have to sleep on the couch." Mark's large, warm hand patted her knee. "It's nice to have you here. But I do wonder – why this year, all the sudden? We haven't seen you for Thanksgiving in..."

"Years, I know. I, um..." How could she explain it, exactly? Of the men who had become family to her, one was currently visiting his son on another planet, one was using the break to dive head-long into ruins thousands of years older than they should be able to be, and the third – well, he was gone. Kind of. Flying a desk somewhere half a continent away in a stuffy office in the Pentagon. Somehow, that one hurt more than the others. But she couldn't tell her brother any of that, so she did something she'd gotten lots of practice at over the last near-decade. She lied. "Our new base commander decided to shut everything down for the week. That hasn't happened since I got stationed there, so I figured, why not?"

Landry _had_ practically kicked them all out after their last fairly disastrous mission. That made it less of a lie... right? But apparently they bought it anyway, as Mark answered only by requesting that she pass the gravy.

"I wish you could come out here more often, Aunt Sam," Sydney spoke up.

"She thinks you're the coolest aunt _ever_," Mark pressed with a roll of his eyes, and the little girl blushed.

"Well, I think you're the coolest niece ever; how 'bout that?" Sam told the girl, shooting daggers at her brother with her eyes.

"Really?"

"Really. Hey, can I have some of the cranberry stuff, please?"

"Sure!" Sydney practically tripped all over herself to help, very nearly dipping an elbow in the gravy in the attempt. Sam grinned at her.

"So, how's work?"

Oh, the ever-awkward question. But a grin was plastered on her brother's face, and she knew he did it intentionally. "Still classified." Since her father's reintroduction and miraculous cure followed by quick and mysterious death, the 'deep space telemetry' lie had just become too hard to keep, and they'd settled for the truth – that they just plain couldn't tell him anything. And he wouldn't want to know, anyway; the Ori scared even Sam. A little.

"What do you do?" the little girl asked.

"I'm in the Air Force; you know that."

"Well, yeah, but what do you _do_?"

A large, conspiratorial grin crossed her face as she whispered, "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you." Sydney's eyes flew wide, and she quickly dug back into her turkey. Sam ruffled her blonde hair affectionately.

A sharp knock on the door echoed through the dining room, and while the kids ignored it, all three adults looked up. Who would come to the door unannounced late afternoon on Thanksgiving Day, when most families were eating? It didn't make sense.

"Flash must've gotten out of the yard again," Mark muttered as he got to his feet. "I'll be back." He strode down the hall and opened the front door with confidence, fully expecting one of his neighbors to have his German Shepherd in tow. What he saw instead nearly knocked him back a step.

Under any other circumstances, he might have panicked: for the family of a soldier, having a man show up unexpectedly in dress blues was almost never a good thing... but his father was already dead and his sister was safe in the dining room, so it could hardly be that. Quickly taking in the gray hair and stars on his shoulders – he'd grown up in a military household, after all – Mark greeted, "Can I help you, General?"

"Afternoon," the man greeted stiffly, but the mannerism didn't carry in the same well-worn way his father had always held. This man seemed... nervous? Unsure? "I was hoping to find Colonel Carter."

"Uh, sure. She's in the dining room. Come on in." Still confused, Mark shut the door behind the man and led the way into the house, stepping quickly aside from the hallway to let him into the room. "Sam?"

He didn't miss the look of complete and utter panic that crossed his sister's face, and she pushed back from the table with such force that her chair tipped and clattered to the floor behind her. She didn't even seem to notice. "Sir? What happened?"

"Nothing," the General assured her quickly. "It's not... I... Nothing."

That eased the panic, but not the tension in the room. If anything, it thickened, and Mark exchanged a glance with his wife. What the hell was going on?

Sam didn't seem to know, either. "Then... what are you..."

"Oh, well, I, ah... I was in the neighborhood," he stammered, and her brother knew that was a lie. Heck, even his six-year-old probably saw through that one.

"In the neighborhood of... Earth?" Panic flashed across her face again as she glanced toward the brother, as if she'd said something she wasn't supposed to. Mark had thought the metaphor pretty amusing, but a sharp look from Ellie kept him silent. Her eyes moved purposefully from the man to her sister-in-law and back, then met her husband's again – _there's something going on here_, the look said. _Something big_.

"Well, you know, I had a few days," the man answered noncommittally.

"Yes, sir," she said simply, and a taut, thick silence filled the room as they stared at each other, gazes locked, chests moving quickly with nervous, shallow breaths. Neither seemed to know what to say or where to go from there.

Mark looked again at the man, hard, and suddenly he realized he'd seen him before – he'd been among Sam's friends at their father's funeral. He knew he'd been introduced to him, talked to him, but he had no idea what his name was. And while the man wore a name badge on the opposite side of his chest, he was pretty sure his wife would slaughter him on the spot if he moved. Or spoke. Or interrupted the odd little encounter in any possible way.

It was Sydney, oblivious, still eating, who shattered the moment. "Mom, can I have some more sweet potatoes, please?"

"In a minute," Ellie hissed softly.

But the little girl's simple question hit the General like an arrow. His eyes snapped wide as they took in the table, the food, the half-eaten plates for the first time. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I should never have... I'm sorry." Abruptly, he spun on a heel and headed back for the hallway.

"Sir, _wait_."

The desperation in her words brought the man to a complete halt just inside the room. He didn't turn around, and Mark watched as his sister's mouth moved silently again and again, her eyes glued to his back as she struggled for words.

"Well, you know, you can't leave." Ellie's overly cheerful voice cut through the quiet, and both heads turned to face her.

"I can't?" he asked reflexively.

"He can't?" Mark echoed.

"Of course not," their hostess lied easily as she pushed to her feet, and Mark was pretty sure he was the only one who caught the mini-glare she sent his way. "It's one of the Carter rules – nobody leaves on Thanksgiving without eating."

"Mommy," their smallest child guffawed, "there are no rules for Thanksgiving!"

A firm hand clamped on top of the small head. "Yes, David, there _are_."

But the unspoken will behind her words didn't quite carry to his young brain, and his fork hit china with a clang. "Aunt Sam, are there Thanksgiving rules?"

The way the General's muscles tensed was obvious even under his heavy jacket; Sam's reaction was even clearer. After a moment, he turned slowly to meet her eyes, and Mark got the definite feeling that his entire being leaned heavily on the next words from her mouth. They were a long time coming.

"Sure there are, David," she answered softly, her eyes never leaving the older man in front of her. "You have to have turkey. The cranberry sauce can't come from a can. And... you'd better visit on an empty stomach, because you can't leave without dinner."

Just the slightest ghost of a smile crossed her face, but the tension eased almost immediately. The General's tiny step toward her spurred them all into action.

"I'll get a chair," Mark volunteered and disappeared down the hall.

"I'll get you a plate!" Ellie ducked into the kitchen.

The two officers were left staring at each other over the table and the heads of her niece and nephew. Getting past the dinner invitation had bought her time, but Sam's heart beat like a jackhammer in her chest. What was he doing? "I'll, um, get a beer," she murmured finally, tearing her gaze away to start toward the kitchen herself.

"Two, please," he managed.

"It was for you, sir."

"Oh."

Her quick exit left him standing awkwardly in the dining room while the two children continued to purposefully shovel food into their mouths. It made him wonder what generally went on in the house that neither reacted to the strange behavior – or even the chair that still lay on its back across the table. As he moved to right it, the girl finally seemed to notice him.

"Hi!" she greeted. "I'm Sydney."

A miniature but confident hand shot his direction, and he shook it. "Hi, Sydney. I'm Jack."

To her credit, she waited a full ten seconds – giving him time to step away a bit – before she yelled at the top of her lungs, "Mom! It's been a minute! Does that mean I can have more sweet potatoes now?"


	2. Chapter 2

"And I really like my bus driver, Miss Marie, 'cause she's really nice. And my teacher Miss Lyons gives us these little stars when we're good, and I really like her, 'cause she's really nice, too. And-"

"David," Ellie said patiently, "give the poor man a rest."

An easy grin spread over Jack's previously dead-serious expression as his gaze moved from son to mother. "It's fine."

"All right, well, give your aunt a rest, then. She's only heard this a million times since last night. You can talk Mister O'Neill's ear off later." When three sets of eyes turned to her, she defended, "What?"

"Uh... no one's called me 'mister' in awhile."

"Oh. Sorry, uh... _General_ O'Neill," she corrected.

"No, no. It's actually great." Ever since the stars, he felt like people walked on eggshells around him, and the way they talked was irritating. It was like they were all new recruits – 'General' this and 'sir' that and 'respectfully' everything. 'Mister' felt... normal. Human. Further from the job that had slowly begun to suck out his soul. God, he hated paperwork.

"So, you work with Sam?" Mark asked.

"Uh... yeah," he shrugged – the short answer, which he figured was easier.

"No," Sam said simultaneously, and both winced a little when the married couple shot them looks.

"I technically fly a desk in Washington now," he explained, "but Cheyenne Mountain is still home."

"We miss you, sir," the Colonel put in softly, and the words made his heart do a little dance. He missed them, too. More than she could possibly know.

"Washington State or DC?" Ellie asked. "Probably a dumb question, but since we're so close..."

"The Pentagon," her sister-in-law confirmed.

"Oh," the woman acknowledged, wide-eyed in what he could only take as wonderment. He hated that. "Well."

"It's not that exciting, really." Stacks upon stacks of papers waiting for his signature. Yes, thrilling.

"Sam was at the Pentagon for a few years," Mark told his wife. "She loved it."

"Of course, I was a lowly captain then. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, you know. I'm sure the experience is a bit different," Sam said.

Ellie shot Jack a mischievous grin. "What, you're not bushy-tailed?" But she saved him a response by pushing to her feet and starting to collect the empty plates. Sam, of course, did the same, her warm hand brushing against Jack's larger one as she took his plate. If the other two noticed them both jump a little, they didn't comment. "You know, Sam, I am really looking forward to that apple cake you made," Ellie pressed on.

"I'm sorry," Jack interrupted. "Carter _cooked_?"

Ellie nodded.

"And you intend to _eat _this contraption?" In eight years, she'd never, ever, made anything from scratch. Not that the rest of them had, either, of course, but it just didn't seem right.

"I intend to dig in with both hands," she assured him. "It smells amazing. And Sam helped make half of what you just ate, by the way."

His confused eyes met his second's – ex-second, he reminded himself – amused ones. "I never told you I couldn't cook."

"Yeah, but you... I mean, you..."

"You know what they say about assumptions, sir," she quipped as she vanished into the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

The apple cake was, in fact, mouthwateringly delicious, and Jack couldn't help sneaking repeated looks at the woman beside him. Professionally, he knew everything about her, but personally, there were apparently facets he'd never even seen. He wanted to. Badly.

"Do you guys want anything else?" Mark offered as the General finished his second piece of cake. "Coffee? Beer?"

The beer seemed to be mostly for his benefit – everyone else stuck to wine or something non-alcoholic, so he declined it. "Coffee would be great, thanks." He didn't miss the way Sam's head turned halfway toward him in surprise before she stopped herself, and he hoped she appreciated his attempts to fit in.

"I'll help, hon," Ellie offered. "Kids, clean up and go play outside."

"Awesome!" came a small cheer as both children slid noisily from the table, stopped to push their chairs back in with an equal amount of racket, then took off at a breakneck pace.

"Only in San Diego do the kids play outside after Thanksgiving dinner," Sam commented as she started to collect dishes.

"We did in Minnesota," Jack argued, "though it was to build snowmen."

The smile she shot him was dazzling. Unfortunately, it was followed by her turning her back to leave with the dishes, and the warmth that had spread through his chest quickly dissipated. It was a crazy, awkward dance, moving forward and back without ever actually moving closer... but after so many years of carefully maintaining that distance, he wasn't sure how to stop.

"_Flash_!" The panicked yell from the kitchen brought both airmen to full attention. "Flash, _no_!"

A huge black and brown mass slid around the corner and made a beeline for Sam and the stack of dishes in her arms. Her blue eyes flew wide as she realized she had no way to defend herself, and Jack was on his feet and in front of her in a second. "Ah, ah!" he scolded. "Sit."

Hindquarters hit hardwood long before the dog had actually stopped, and it slid to a halt just before it rammed into the General's knees – for which he was grateful. "Good boy," he cheered, carefully lowering himself to shower affection on the Shepherd's ears and chest.

"Wow," Mark spoke up from the hall. "That could've been ugly. Though Ellie would've had an excuse to hit up Crate and Barrel again."

"Dangit!" his wife's voice echoed from the kitchen.

Jack grinned up at a slightly shell-shocked Sam. "I always told you I liked dogs."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, now that the dog has found his soul mate, you won't mind if Sam helps in the kitchen for a bit," Mark pressed, and his sister hurried toward him with the plates.

Being left with only a dog for company was hardly a bad thing as far as Jack was concerned, and he pulled up a chair to more easily get to the dog's height. He was a massive German Shepherd, longer than most, and he wondered idly if the dog had been military or law enforcement at one point – if not, the Carters had paid a pretty penny to import him.

"What's your name, buddy?" Jack asked, digging for his collar. "Flash, huh? You sure are. You almost laid Carter out, and that's tough to do." He'd seen many a Jaffa try and fail. The woman had a will of steel. "But as much as I'd like to spend the rest of the day doting on you, I suppose I ought to at least offer to help, right? Since I did crash the party and all."

Flash followed him obediently as he headed for the kitchen, but the hushed voices coming from there stopped him just outside the door.

"Then what is he doing here?" Mark's voice insisted.

"I really don't-"

"Oh, my God," he interrupted. "He's your CO, isn't he? You could... Did Dad know about this?"

"There was nothing to know, Mark. He _was_ my CO then, but he isn't anymore. Not really. And honestly, there's nothing going on."

"Well, that's just not true," Ellie cut in. "A blind man could see that."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Jack knew that was her conditioned response – he used the same one.

"Oh, come on, sugar. You're telling me that's nothing? The glances, the awkward, unfinished sentences, the way you jump whenever he touches you?"

"What?" Sam shot back. Mark made an uncomfortable noise.

"Seriously, you two have elevated steamy looks to an art form. Whatever it is you're _not_ doing, you should be."

"I don't want to hear this," her brother grumbled.

"You watch too many soap operas, Ellie."

"I do. Which is why," she countered, "I know steamy when I see it."

Sam's heavy sigh carried easily into the hall. "Look," she said sadly, "I haven't seen him in... months. And I know we both kind of crashed your nice, quiet Thanksgiving, and I'm sorry for that. But I... I'm not sorry he's here. This could be..."

"Highly entertaining for _me_," Ellie finished when the other woman trailed off. "Hang on, don't gossip without me."

Jack was still reeling over his former second's previous comment, and realized far too late that Ellie was about to come barreling out of the kitchen. He'd only managed to backtrack two steps before she rounded the corner and ran smack into his chest.

To her credit, she didn't make a sound as her unbelievably wide eyes met his. She looked... amused. "Eavesdrop much?" she breathed with a grin, keeping her voice well out of range of the kitchen.

He shrugged. "Old habit." His voice was just as soft, but he dragged her back toward the dining room, just in case. "Black Ops."

"Oh." Safely away from the kitchen, she raised her voice back to a normal volume. The knowing look didn't fade a bit. "And we're part of some mission?"

"More or less," he admitted. "Kind of. Not a well-planned one, obviously."

"Obviously," she shot back. "But if your first objective was to-"

Behind her, Sam stepped out of the kitchen and headed toward them. He cleared his throat. Loudly.

"-find a new playmate," Ellie edited quickly, "then it looks like you're in the right place. In fact, Flash has so much nervous energy pent up from being alone all day, I bet he'd just _love_ a game of fetch out back, huh?"

"You sure I can't help in the kitchen?" he offered weakly, shooting her a grateful look. She was quick on her feet, for sure.

"Nope," she insisted. "And neither can Sam."

Behind her, Sam opened her mouth to protest, but a conspiratorial wink from his hostess told him very clearly that it was one battle Colonel Sam Carter was going to lose.


	4. Chapter 4

Flash was quite the acrobat – and the racer. Luckily, the Carters' back yard was long, if a little narrow, and Jack chucked the ball with all his might over and over, long past feeling a twinge in his shoulder. Watching the dog leap and twist was fun for all – Sam stood next to him, awed, while the kids on the swing set just laughed at their pet's familiar antics.

"He's really fast," Sam exclaimed as the dog covered the lawn in no time at all, skidded into a sharp turn, and rushed back.

"It's what he's bred for," Jack answered easily. "He's strong and fast and crazy smart. Should've been SG-1's dog."

She chuckled as the dog took off again, actually beating the tennis ball to its intended target. "You miss having a dog?"

"Hell, yes! This is great." Flash abandoned the tennis ball halfway back, instead grabbing a rubber chew toy with a handle, which he offered nicely (handle first, of course) to Sam. "Uh, wait," Jack suggested, but it was too late – the second her hand closed around the toy, Flash tugged.

Jack could only guess that the dog was used to playing with Mark – and a well-braced Mark at that – because its swift move jerked Sam forward with a cry. The General leapt into the fray, his left arm wrapping firmly around her middle while his right covered hers on the toy.

"Holy Hannah!" she exclaimed.

"I told you he was strong." It was a little hard to find solid footing wrapped completely around the woman as he was, but four feet versus four feet was much more fair. The children laughed raucously as the dog dug in – the battle was on. "Oh, there's no way in hell I'm losing to a _mutt_," Jack grunted, making Sam giggle.

"I'm pretty sure he's purebred, sir."

"I know that!"

"I don't think you can trash-talk the dog into submission," she laughed.

"I could trash-talk the kitchen _table _into submission, Carter, and you know that to be true. Right, mutt?"

Sure enough, the dog growled and redoubled his efforts, but so did Jack. Unfortunately, his last comment had sent the woman in his arms into an all-out fit of giggles, so she was more hindrance than help – not that he minded. Not until another yank from the dog nearly sent them sprawling, and he had to let Flash get away to keep both humans on their feet.

"What have I told you about giggling?" he demanded with a grin, wrapping his other arm around her waist as Flash ran off happily, victorious.

It was a long time before the Colonel had calmed enough to even stand up straight, much less speak – and considering how warm she was, how right it felt holding her so close, Jack was okay with that. Reluctantly, he let her go as she straightened and turned to face him. "I almost ate dirt pie," she chuckled.

"Yes, you did. But I bet you won't underestimate him again."

"Absolutely not. Unfortunately for him, though, I think that means no more tug of war." She thought about that for a moment, then added softly, "At least not by myself."

"Tempting as that is, my shoulder hurts," he admitted. He wasn't as young as he'd been last time he'd done that, and a torn ligament didn't sound fun anymore.

"Oh, no!" She flew immediately into all-out dote mode. "Do you need some ice, or-"

"I'm fine," he insisted. "Let's sit down, huh?"

"I... yeah, sure." Their choices were a pint-sized plastic picnic table, the ultra-short and already occupied swing set, or the back stoop, so Jack settled onto the concrete, Sam next to him. Flash, seeing his new best friends on his level, promptly brought his tug toy back. Jack ignored it but began to rub the dog down lovingly, and Sam joined in, a bit more timid. She'd never really been a dog person.

"I'm, uh... I'm sorry about barging in on dinner. I didn't really think about that one," Jack said softly, keeping his eyes firmly on the dog.

She did the same, concentrating solely on Flash. "It's fine, sir. There're still gonna be leftovers for days."

"Yet another Carter rule? You eat turkey for the next week?"

She blushed at the reference, but nodded. "Pretty much."

"That's how it was when I was a kid, too."

The two sat in companionable silence for a long time, Jack not seeming to mind the fact that his dress blues were quickly losing the battle with deep tan and black dog hair, Sam forcing herself not to react every time their hands collided.

Finally she asked softly, still staring straight ahead, "Why did you come here, sir?"

The question hung in the air, neither ceasing their ministrations, until Jack finally said lightly, "Because I knew you'd be here."

It was as much answer as she was likely to get, so she just nodded. Maybe... he was just as lonely as she was, on their first Thanksgiving with the team away.

"I went to the store yesterday after work," he said, "'cause I was out of beer and I knew everything would be closed today. I didn't take into account how hectic it would be in there."

"The night before Thanksgiving? Yeah," Sam offered with a smile.

"Well, you know, I haven't exactly cooked a turkey in awhile," he defended. "And there was this little old lady with this heaping cart. I mean, she was tiny, and she needed the graham cracker crumbs, and they were on the top shelf, so I helped her out."

Sam smiled at the image that painted. He was a soldier, a scarred soldier, and with that came a gruff exterior and sarcasm and any number of crude defenses. But at heart, she knew, he was a good man, and the story didn't surprise her. She half expected him to tell her he helped her push the cart around for the rest of her trip.

"She was cute, you know, reminded me of my great-grandmother a little bit, in that way that all little old ladies remind you of your grandmothers," he went on. "And she was obviously close to done and the cart was taller than she was, so I offered to help her to her car."

Sam burst out laughing. Yes, she knew this man.

"What?"

"Nothing," she insisted. "Go on. Please."

He looked marginally hurt, but he pressed on. "Well, so, y'know, she asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving. I told her nothing, really, that I'd just been reassigned and didn't have any family around or anything, and she invited me over. She said she was having twenty-five people, and one more was nothing."

"Wow," Sam commented. "That's quite a turkey."

"Two. Big ones. But that's not really relevant."

"Right," she agreed with a smile. "Sorry."

"I told her thanks, but that wasn't really necessary. And she said it was, because... Because every heart belongs somewhere at Thanksgiving."

The smaller hand stilled abruptly, but she didn't look up.

"And I told her that if that were true, then mine sure as hell didn't belong in Washington. And I caught a flight here."

She laughed, uncomfortable, and choked out, "I know – the dog's pretty magnetic."

"It's not the dog," he answered softly. They were so good at this dance – the jokes, the metaphors to keep everything at bay. His hand slid across Flash's shoulders until it covered hers, and the breath she sucked in at the contact was audible.

Slowly, giving her all the time in the world to do something – anything – to stop him, he leaned over and pressed a kiss tenderly against her temple. He didn't back away, his lips gently brushing over her eyelid, then her cheek as she slowly turned into him. It seemed like an eternity before her mouth finally reached his, and she swept her lips against his so softly he was certain that the heat he felt was only radiant.

He froze, so afraid that any movement on his part would break the moment. But she kissed him again, tenderly caressing his lower lip with hers, and he let his free hand come up to ever so gently cradle the back of her head.

He was only vaguely aware of the dog nosing at them as their hands fell away together, intertwining briefly before she turned into him and cupped his face in her hands, suckling and teasing his lower lip in earnest.

The stolen lip lock in the control room during the time loop so many years ago, surprising and wild, had nothing on this. For this woman, to have her in his arms, Jack was truly thankful.

"_Mommy, they're kissing_!"

The boy's mortified shriek forced them apart abruptly, eyes locking.

Ellie's voice through the open kitchen window was seriously annoyed. "Well, they're not _anymore_, killjoy!"

Jack shook his head. "Y'know, I always thought it would've been Daniel."

Sam lost it completely at that, burying her face in his neck as the fit of laughter shook through her. He chuckled, too, holding her close until she pulled herself together enough to look at him.

Still a little lost in the events of the past few minutes, his fingers lovingly traced the outlines of her face, reveling in the soft, warm skin. "So what do the Carter rules dictate for after dinner?"

"Uh, well... There's a little playing with the dog, a little making out on the back step..."

He grinned. "And after that?"

"After that's the best part. Well, maybe not this year," she amended, still flushed from their kiss. "We decorate the Christmas tree."

He winced a little. "Y'know, Carter... I know you came here to spend some time with family, and I just kind of..."

"Jack," she said softly, and the sound of his name stopped him dead, "you _are_ family. I want you here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Besides, I don't think Ellie will let you leave. And I _know_ Flash won't," she smiled as the dog dug his nose under Jack's hand. "Come on. Let's go in."


	5. Chapter 5

Jack had long forgotten all the logistics of decorating a Christmas tree with kids and a dog in the house. All the old and delicate ornaments were high up, safely nestled a bit inside the tree, while the lower branches teemed with off-kilter art projects and unbreakable ornaments. Jack pulled a chunky plastic star from a box and handed it to Sydney, who attached it as neatly as she could to a low branch.

A large, old shoebox sat at the bottom of the box, and Mark put a hand on it as Jack pulled it from the larger container. "Wait... those are Sam's."

From her place on the floor across the room, she raised an eyebrow at her brother. "What?"

"These are yours," he repeated, holding up the shoebox.

Blinking fast, she slowly got to her feet. "You kept them?" she asked softly.

"Yeah. I've been meaning to give them to you, it's just... I would always pack up the holiday stuff and forget about it."

Her hands accepted the box carefully, as if merely the act of holding it might shatter its contents, and she sank onto the couch close to Jack. "What is it?" he asked softly as she stared down at it, not removing the lid.

"It's... They're..."

It was Mark who finally answered the question. "Every year, Mom would give us both two ornaments – a Campbell's globe ornament and a porcelain ornament that she'd painted. They were different every year. I always got a Santa; Sam always got an angel."

"I thought these were long gone," she whispered, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Sorry," Mark said softly. "We've never hung them without you."

"Thank you."

She moved to open the box, but Jack gently took her hands in his. "You know, we never had a tree in Colorado. Maybe you should take these home with you. It would be a good start."

"I think that's a great idea, Sam," her brother said.

Her hands turned up to latch around Jack's. "You'll help me hang them?" she asked softly.

"Of course."

Little David chose that moment to tap Sam on the arm. "Will you help me put the star on the tree?"

"Sure, sweetie." She was on her feet before she realized she wouldn't be able to lift him and hold the shoebox at the same time.

"Can I pick you up, buddy?" Jack asked, pushing off the couch.

"No, no, it's okay." Giving the box one long, final look, she reached out and gently pressed it into Jack's arms. "Anything happens to that, you're a dead man," she joked, though it fell rather flat.

He was well aware that the heart of the woman he loved was in that box. "Yes, ma'am."

~/~

Having had second (and third) helpings of everything he'd already eaten earlier that day – it was one of the rules, apparently, to have turkey and gravy sandwiches and raid the fridge as a snack – Jack was more than happy to collapse onto the couch with Sam leaning into his side. "What's next?" he whispered in her ear.

"We watch _It's a Wonderful Life_," she answered easily, "and the kids fall asleep. And then the adults collapse from exhaustion."

The way his eyes widened slightly told her pretty clearly that he hadn't considered the second part of that sentence in advance. He had nowhere to stay. "It's not like I planned it," he defended. "I just... didn't really think this through."

She looked at him in shock. "What, you? Diving headlong into a situation with no regard for the consequences? _Never_."

"Hush, you," he scolded when she grinned wickedly at him.

"Shhh!" Sydney scolded as the movie started.

Jack and Sam exchanged guilty smiles and a small kiss before settling in to watch the movie.


	6. Chapter 6

"You really don't have to go," Mark said as he peeled his older child gently off the couch.

Jack cringed. "It's not like you have the room with Carter here already. I'll get a hotel."

"Where?" Sam challenged idly from her place on the couch, amused.

"Uh... by the interstate?" Surely he'd passed a few. Surely.

"The bed in Sam's room is a queen," Ellie spoke up, batting her eyes innocently.

But it was not, Jack noticed, Carter who had volunteered that information. "Worst case, I can crash on the Naval base. They'll make room for a General, right?" Unannounced... but still. He grabbed his jacket and quickly put it on, digging through his pockets for the keys.

"If you're that offended by the thought of sharing a room with my sister – God knows I stopped doing it decades ago – we can make up the couch," Mark kidded as he adjusted his hold on his daughter. Sam snorted.

"No, really. I've been enough trouble already." But his hands hit one empty pocket after another. "Including, apparently, losing my keys."

Mark had been about to climb the stairs, girl in arms, but turned around to say, "This one really knows how to make an impression, Sammie."

"You're tellin' me," she mused, still not bothering to get up. And after all the discomfort he'd put her through earlier that day, he couldn't really blame her for taking a bit of joy in all this. "Did you even drive here, sir? Or did the base send you with a driver?"

"I would remember that," he shot back.

"Maybe they're locked in the car, then," she suggested.

"That would just be the icing on the cake, wouldn't it?" he growled. "Where's your bag? I need your flashlight."

"By the door. And actually, the _icing _on the cake would be if the keys were locked in it and it was still running."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "That sounds like experience talking, Carter."

"Uh... well, it might be a family trait, but I suspect she's talking about Mark," Ellie put in. "He has a tendency to do that at inopportune times."

Jack sighed. "I'll be back."

"You're taking an awful lot of joy in his misery, Sam," the other woman said after he left, perching on the arm of the chair across from her.

"Oh, it goes back and forth," she promised. "Believe me, that man has laughed at my misery and humiliation more than once. Just _say_ the designation P3X-595 to him and see what he does."

"Designation? What's that?"

"Can't tell you. But try it."

On cue, Jack walked back in. "Well, it's dark, but unless I knocked them under the seat or something, I don't think they're in there."

Ellie opened her mouth, but Mark bounded down the steps. "I just had a sleep-talk with our own resident key thief. He remembers playing with them before he went outside with Flash."

His wife groaned. "They could be anywhere out there."

"I'll get a flashlight and check the fort. We _might _find them _if_ Flash hasn't buried them yet."

"Better and better," Sam mused, her smile ever-growing as the General handed over the light.

"Hey, at least that would mean I'm not just an idiot," Jack defended.

"Being a target of our little pickpocket makes it not your fault at all, in my book," her brother said. "I'll be right back."

"You want help?" Jack offered.

"Nah, I'm good."

The General's eyes turned back to the woman on the couch. "This is getting ridiculous, Carter."

She just laughed.

"Uh, Jack?" Ellie spoke up. "I'm supposed to tell you... P3...X..."

"595," Sam supplied.

Suspicious brown eyes looked between them for a moment, then narrowed at Carter. "Wait, is that the one where you drank that local stuff that made you take off your-"

"That's the one!" she interrupted.

He chuckled. "Good mission."

"Wait, what did you take off?" the other woman demanded. "I want details!"

"Ah, ah! That's classified," the General told her. "Only four people on this planet know what happened out there. And the more people who find out, the less likely I am to ever be able to collect serious blackmail on it."

"See?" Sam told Ellie pointedly. "Eight years, and he's still getting a kick out of it."

Mark emerged from the backyard and forced a smile, holding up empty hands. "Welcome home!"


	7. Chapter 7

Jack was already standing in the bedroom, hands stuffed uncomfortably in an undershirt and his dog hair-covered uniform pants when Sam returned from the bathroom in her pajamas. "So, uh..." he mumbled.

"Uh?"

"Y'know, I did think far enough ahead to bring an overnight bag. I mean, not for, y'know, _here_, but for... just... wherever."

"And that would be a plus," she prompted, "if it weren't locked in your car."

"That was kind of my point."

"It's not like I haven't seen you in just your boxers before, sir."

He cleared his throat. "Well, I always _tried _to make sure there were sweatpants involved."

She snapped the blankets back and crawled into bed. "If it really bothers you, I won't look. Much."

Quickly stripping to his boxers, he climbed beneath the sheets, leaving as much room as he could manage between them. "This really isn't how I thought today would end up."

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Abruptly, she rolled over, parking her face just above his – apparently, her personal bubble wasn't as big a deal as he'd thought. "You flew across an entire continent, tracked me down at an address I never told you, kissed me like... like _that_, and it never occurred to you that we would end up in bed together?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Y'know, I think I liked you better before we had this whole 'equals' thing going on. You didn't make fun of me nearly as much."

"Then again," she argued, "back then, I couldn't do this." Dipping her head, she captured his lips – not in the sweet, tender caresses of that afternoon, but passionate, demanding. A low moan escaped his throat as she tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth, soothing it with the tip of her tongue.

She was on her back in an instant, his fingers threading in her hair as he invaded her mouth, fully conscious of every soft sound she was making at his touch. But he forced himself to pull back. "Carter, this isn't... I mean, I don't want to spend the whole first time I'm making love to you worrying about waking up the five-year-old next door. I really didn't come here to get into your pants."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, yes, I do _eventually_ want to get into your pants," he edited.

A brilliant grin spread across her features. "I was kinda hoping so."

"Well, yeah." A little defeated, he flipped to his back and away from her. "So... what now?"

"I don't know," she said, snuggling into his side.

"You and Ellie going shopping tomorrow?"

"Oh, hell, no. Too many people." He could feel her smile against his shoulder. "I'd much rather cuddle here with you."

He sighed, his fingers playing gently with her hair. "Me, too. So what's on the schedule for tomorrow?"

"Finding your keys, I imagine," she chuckled. "When do you fly back?"

"Uh..."

"Didn't quite plan that far ahead?"

"Not really." Mentally, he kicked himself. _This_ was why he didn't just go off half-cocked without a big gun – he ended up looking like an idiot. "When do you head out?"

"Saturday morning. It's a good two-day ride back to Colorado Springs."

"Well, then, I guess I'll leave then. I mean, if that's-"

"It's fine." She silenced him with a quick kiss. "I want you here."

Why she would, he couldn't possibly understand, but he contented himself with tucking her head tighter into his shoulder and wrapping his arms around her. "This is nice, Carter," he said softly.

"Yeah," she teased, "and you didn't even get food poisoning from my cooking."

Abruptly, he pulled away to look her in the eye. "Yeah! About that..." How had she not told them that she could cook like that? He felt cheated. And fairly self-satisfied, in a way, that he knew something about her that Daniel and Teal'c didn't.

"To be fair, sir, I was usually fairly occupied with other things," she defended, "like saving the planet."

Okay, that was a pretty good excuse. Still... "Do you make pie?"

She grinned again. "I make a pecan pie to die for."

"Actually, I was hoping for banana cream."

"For you," she murmured, "I suppose I can try."

"Sweet. Hey, Carter?"

Her sigh was audible. "Yes?"

"Where's the kid who belongs in this room? I mean, isn't there an older one? Didn't you tell me Mark had kids a decade ago?"

"Sydney and her older brother," Sam confirmed sleepily. "Rob. He's spending Thanksgiving with a friend."

"Ah. Reached the age where his parents aren't cool anymore?"

"Mmm. But he's a good kid. We all need space sometimes."

Pressing a tender kiss to her temple, he asked, "I think we've had space long enough, don't you?"

"Definitely."

The silence lasted just long enough for Sam to close her eyes before he said, "Carter?"

"Didn't I tell you the part about collapsing from exhaustion?"

"Oh. Right." Rolling toward her, he snaked one arm under her waist and settled his cheek against the pale, warm skin of her shoulder. He wanted desperately to move a little lower to the two _better _pillows, but he was determined to be a good boy. Tonight, he would sleep with Sam Carter in his arms, and that was enough.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam stretched languidly, thoroughly enjoying the soft mattress and the sheets that were so much nicer than hers. She hadn't slept so well in years, but she knew it wasn't really the bed she had to thank for that – it was something much warmer. With a contented sigh, she rolled toward the other side of the bed...

And collapsed face-first onto an empty pillow.

More than a little confused, she pushed up to sitting. She distinctly remembered going to bed with Jack, falling asleep in his arms, but the only sign of him was a small pile of dog hair where he'd dropped his uniform the night before.

Just to be certain, she pried back the blinds and glanced at the street outside. Yes, there was still a black sedan that screamed "government" parked at the curb, so she grabbed her robe and headed downstairs to find the man who was supposed to have been sleeping in beside her.

The house was far louder than it should have been for the hour. Both children sat at the dining room table, noisily attacking bowls of oatmeal. Dishes clanged in the kitchen where Sam found Ellie emptying the dishwasher, and Flash yapped happily away in the backyard.

"Morning, Sunshine," the other woman greeted with a knowing smile. "Long night?"

Sam blinked. "I didn't think so." But the microwave clock read 9:22, and she hadn't slept that late... maybe ever. She perched on a bar stool in the breakfast nook.

"Oatmeal? Cereal? Toast?"

"Coffee?" she requested instead. She really wanted to ask where the General was, but she hadn't really been awake long enough to put up with Ellie's teasing yet.

"Sure." Snatching a mug from the dishwasher, she quickly poured a cup.

It was the giant smile that appeared on her sister-in-law's face that alerted Sam to Jack's arrival just before a pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind. She leaned back happily against his chest, reveling in the feel of his rough cheek against her temple, his breath in her hair.

"I'm... gonna go check on my children," Ellie excused, dropping the cup of coffee on the counter in front of Sam before fleeing the kitchen.

Jack pressed warm lips to the top of her head, then traced his way slowly down the side of her face. He had reached the crook of her shoulder before she questioned softly, "Where'd you go?"

One arm left her waist to dangle a set of dirt-caked car keys in front of her face.

"Oh. Found 'em, huh?"

"In a hole under the swing set," he murmured in her ear. "Which is good, because now I _really_ need a shower and a change of clothes."

Taking advantage of his loosened grip, she spun in his arms... and immediately jerked away. "Oh, my God," she gasped. "Your uniform is ruined!" Dog hair aside, a thin film of mud covered the once-immaculate blue. It had apparently rained a little overnight, she thought, and unless she was severely mistaken, there were paw prints on his chest – Flash must have been overjoyed to have the General on his level.

But he just shrugged, gently pushing her knees apart to step closer. "It's worth it."

She knew she was grinning like an idiot, and she didn't care. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Tenderly, sweetly, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Now, about that shower..."

"You do kind of smell," she chuckled. "A shower would not go amiss."

That time, the kiss landed on her nose. "Join me?"

"Oh, that's tempting," she murmured, "but a really bad idea."

He shrugged. "Had to ask." Planting one last, quick kiss on her lips, he turned and swaggered toward the front door, but stopped when she spoke again.

"Jack? Ask me again sometime."


	9. Chapter 9

The General's clothes were still getting trashed. Sam leaned contentedly against the breakfast bar, coffee in hand, watching him efficiently measure and drill lumber in the backyard under Mark's direction. He'd practically leapt at the opportunity to help when her brother had asked; she suspected that living amid the concrete and traffic of Washington was making him restless.

"He's awfully good with his hands."

A smile tugged at her lips, but she wouldn't dignify that little double entendre with a response except to say "Thank you" as her sister-in-law poured her more coffee. She was seriously hoping, though, that it was true.

"Mark's really thrilled," Ellie went on, though it was muffled as she stuck her head in the refrigerator. "He's been trying to blackmail Steve from next door for awhile now, but their schedules just haven't meshed."

"I guess I never really thought of Mark as the handy-man type," Sam explained, though the massive structure in the backyard all seemed pretty sturdy. As far as she could tell, the current addition would be monkey bars. "When we were kids and something broke, it was usually Dad and me fixing it, so..."

"He... wasn't," she confessed, pulling a saucepan from under the stove and adding a massive scoop of cold, gelled gravy. "He built the fort first, a long time ago, because it's all square and easy. At least, that's what he said. And Steve helped a lot. Mark added the swings a few years later, and the tree house is his masterpiece." She stuck the sweet potatoes in the microwave before adding, "And by that, I mean it took _forever_."

Outside, Jack easily lifted a very excited David onto his shoulders to put in an out-of-reach bolt, and the image made Sam smile. "It's worth it, though, right?" she asked softly.

A second empty saucepan stopped mid-journey and landed on the counter. "Y'know," Ellie said softly, "we were actually kind of worried about that."

"About what?"

The younger woman blew out a breath through puffed cheeks, and it occurred to Sam that she'd never seen her sister-in-law look uncertain – usually, she spoke her mind no matter what. "Before we got married, in that whole church counseling thing, we spent some time talking about ourselves as parents, and so... about _our_ parents, and... Y'know how they say that people grow up to become..."

"You were afraid he'd turn into Dad," Sam whispered, and while she knew the reality of it, it still stung.

"Actually, Mark was. And I see him struggle with it sometimes – if he has to travel for work, he'll come home exhausted, but if the kids want to do something, he's up for it. Always. He would do anything for them. He is... an amazing father."

Sam's gaze drifted back to the window, where young David still rode securely on the General's shoulders. Jack picked up a dowel, handed it up, and the two of them carefully slid it into place before moving on to the next rung. They both looked so happy; the picture was so... right.

Until Jack picked up one of the pieces by the rough end. And while Sam couldn't hear the words that came out of his mouth, she could tell by the three shocked faces around him that it was neither pleasant nor appropriate.

"Apparently," Ellie quipped, "you can take the man out of the Air Force, but you can't take the Air Force out of the man."

Sam offered her a wry, apologetic smile. "I wouldn't want to."

"Mommy!" The back door slammed loudly seconds before Sydney skidded into the room. "Uncle Jack hurt himself!"

"_Uncle_?" Sam asked in shock, but it was cut off by a second door slam.

"Mommy! Uncle Jack said a bad word!"

The General hit the kitchen just seconds later. "Whoops," he said sheepishly. "So, uh... Mommy? Uncle Jack got a splinter. It hurts."

"Let me see," Ellie answered with a grin, taking the hand he offered to examine it. "Wash it off and I'll go get the tweezers. Children," she added as she headed for the stairs, "you wash up, too. Lunch."

The others quickly vanished as Jack claimed the kitchen sink, and Sam watched him for a moment as he carefully scrubbed the sawdust and dirt from his arms. Only when he shut the water off and reached for a towel did she question, "Uncle?"

"Oh. Uh, David started that," he muttered, drying his hands with relish to avoid her gaze.

Not sure how she felt about it herself, she could only manage, "And you didn't... correct him."

"I'm injured!" he defended, thrusting his hand across the counter at her. "It hurts!"

Gently, she took the hand to look at it. Yes, it was a big splinter, a bad one... but nonetheless, it was a _splinter_. "Oh, it's horrible," she mocked with a grin. "That must sting at least as badly as a staff wound."

Jack stepped closer with a matching smile. "I can think of a solution, you know."

"You're terrible," she scolded, but leaned down to tenderly press her lips to his palm, anyway.

When she glanced up, his face was inches from hers. "All better," he whispered.

"Not for long!" Ellie announced, holding up an enormous pair of tweezers in one hand and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in the other. The combination made her look like the quintessential evil horror movie nurse. "Sit."

Casting a nervous glance at Sam, Jack murmured softly, "Save me."

"Sorry, sir," she answered with a grin. "Off to the torture chamber with you."


	10. Chapter 10

Swiping an errant strand of hair from her face with her arm, Sam plucked another dinner fork from the sink, scrubbed at it a few times, rinsed it, and placed it carefully in the dish drainer before reaching for another.

"You know," Ellie's voice sounded from behind her, "there's this marvelous new invention for that. It's called a dishwasher. I have one – here, let me show you how it works."

Sam chuckled. "I'm really more used to doing it this way. I travel so much, if I just put things in the dishwasher and forgot about them, there could be whole new kinds of science growing when I got back."

"Yeah, but you do dishes for one," her sister-in-law insisted. "Believe me, my kids can dirty every dish in this kitchen within two days."

"I don't know. It's... calming, I think. I've just always done it this way. But it's your house."

"No, no, have it your way." Meandering around the kitchen, Ellie started collecting the random dishes and moving them closer to the sink. "I would just think you'd want to spend more time with General Hunkiness, that's all."

The nickname made Sam giggle, but she didn't look away from the sink. "I would, but he said something about not getting sawdust all over your couch and went to take a shower."

"Well, then you really _should_ be spending time with him!" Ellie teased, eliciting a groan from the younger woman.

"Aunt Sam?"

Thankful for the interruption, Sam spun around, careful to hold her arms up to keep the drips off the floor, and smiled at her niece. "Yeah, sweetie?"

"Daddy said you used to be really good at puzzles," Sydney said. "And I have this one that I got for Christmas last year that's really hard, and I thought maybe you'd help me?"

"Your daddy's right. I love puzzles," the Colonel told her. "Why don't you go get it and I'll be in in a minute?"

The little girl shrugged. "They're in the closet. I can't reach them."

"Go on." Ellie gave Sam a nudge and reached out for the dish gloves. "I can handle this. Syd, sweetie, why don't you finish clearing off the table, and you can work on it there?"

"Okay!" Clearly excited, the girl took off for the dining room at a breakneck pace.

"The puzzles are in the spare room," the older woman supplied. "Right side. It's the only fifteen-hundred piece one in there."

"Got it." Relinquishing all the dishwashing supplies, Sam headed up the stairs. It was probably better that she went looking, anyway, she thought – she didn't really think the General would go strutting through her brother's upstairs hallways naked, but with his luck lately, he'd have forgotten clothes. Or a towel. Or anything that would get him from the upstairs bathroom to their bedroom without danger of indecent exposure.

The thought brought a very wicked grin to her face as she crossed the room and slid open the closet door. "Safari, birds, a unicorn," she mused, tracing down the line of boxes. "Escher – ooh, that must be fun. Under the sea..."

Behind her, the door clicked shut, and Sam automatically turned to look.

And froze.

"Hey, I didn't know you were in here," Jack greeted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he wore only a towel. A small towel, at that.

As her eyes involuntarily started at his bare feet and traveled up strong legs, past the towel to a still trim torso with shoulders damp and glinting, she managed, "I... I was looking for a puzzle," and hoped he couldn't tell the way he was making her heart pound and her mouth water.

"Ah." By the way he swaggered toward her, slow, intense, she knew he had. "Like what you found instead?"

"Mmm, yes." She hadn't even meant to say the words, much less actually touch him as he came closer, but she'd thought many times about this scenario... and it was so much better in person. Eyes intently following the actions of her hand, she gently touched a droplet on his chest and swirled it around, relishing in the feel of his bare flesh beneath her hands.

"Turnabout is fair play," he murmured in her ear, his fingers dipping under the hem of her shirt to tease the skin at her waistline. As his arms encircled her, pulling her closer, he added, "I have wanted you for so long..."

His lips descended to hers slowly, meeting her mouth as he pressed her into the wall. There was nothing gentle about it, like their first kiss, nor was it wild like the night before. No, he was taking her, claiming her entirely as his own, his tongue mating and swirling with hers as his hips mimicked the motion.

She moaned against his mouth as his fingers traveled lower, one hand slipping down to cup her ass and pull her harder against him. Willing, wanting him to have better access, she wrapped that leg tightly around his waist as his mouth left hers and he left a trail of tiny bite marks down the side of her neck.

"Aunt Sam? Did you find it?"

Her eyes flew open as Jack froze, groaning softly against her shoulder. She nearly jerked her leg back, but realized just in time that it was helping to hold up the towel that (barely) kept the young girl in the doorway from getting an R-rated view. "Uh... no, honey. Give me just a second," she said, trying desperately to slow her breathing.

Mark was going to _murder_ her.

"That's okay. I can get it," Sydney announced, flouncing across the room. "Just don't tell Mom I stood on the furniture." Grabbing the chair from the corner, she dragged it in front of the closet – mere feet from where Sam and Jack had been doing something they very much shouldn't have been doing in front of a child – hopped up, grabbed the puzzle, and left.

The two were silent for a long moment, still locked together – Sam completely mortified, Jack clearly trying to battle every instinct that told him to fling her on the mattress and be done with it. "What the hell goes on in this house when we're not here?" he said finally into her shoulder. "_Nothing _phases that girl."

Awkwardly clearing her throat, she pushed him away a little, nearly lost the towel, grabbed for it, and wrapped it more tightly around his waist. It could no longer hide everything, though, and the friction made him groan. "I should go downstairs," she murmured, avoiding his eyes. "I promised I'd help."

"Yeah." Blowing out a terse breath, he stepped a little further back. "I'll be down in a minute. Just have to jump back in the shower and turn it on cold."

She grimaced. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He planted a firm kiss on her forehead. "I like your family and all, Carter, but I can't wait to get the hell out of Dodge."

That earned a smile and made her look up. "Me, too."


	11. Chapter 11

The puzzle was coming along nicely in the hands of two blue-eyed Carters. David would come and go for a few minutes at a time, picking up a piece and trying (unsuccessfully, generally) to shove it into any available spot. The behavior earned patient smiles from Sam and irritated glares from his sister – he didn't notice either, but would quickly bore and leave.

On the opposite side of the spectrum was Sam, who would pick an opening, stare at it for a long moment, then slowly survey all the loose pieces until she found the one she was looking for. Sydney fell somewhere between, though closer to Sam's side of things.

Jack found watching them – specifically, Sam – as fascinating as they found the puzzle.

"Gotcha," she muttered under her breath, grabbing a piece and snapping it neatly into place. It had no determining marks that Jack could make out, but it was clearly exactly what she'd been looking for. He shook his head a little.

"What?" she asked. "The one prong was higher than the other, and kind of, y'know, tilted."

"Ohhh." Like that explained everything.

The response was a little over the top, and it earned him an exasperated smile as she pushed away from the table. "I'm gonna go get some coffee. Want some?"

"Sure."

She didn't miss, as she walked away, how he pulled his chair a little closer to the table, picked up a piece, and tried to put it in the wrong spot.

Her sister-in-law was already in the kitchen, her back to the door with the phone cradled to her ear. Oddly, the lights were still off. "Ellie Carter," she said as Sam walked in. "Date of birth: May twelfth, 'sixty-eight. I know it usually takes a couple of days to make an appointment, but I was hoping if you get this message first thing Monday morning I might luck out with a cancellation or something. Please give me a call." Quickly reciting their phone number, she disconnected the call and set the phone back on the counter.

Sam watched her a moment, the way she tapped her fingers anxiously beside the phone, the nervous tension in her shoulders. It was a completely different woman than she was used to seeing. "Ellie?" she called softly.

Jumping like she'd just been shocked, she spun, eyes wide. "Sam."

"Just me." Slowly, the Colonel crossed the tile floor. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, everything's fine," she insisted, nodding completely unnecessarily. And as she did, she couldn't seem to help the way her eyes started to twinkle and the corners of her lips turned up. Finally giving in, she whispered conspiratorially, "Actually, everything might be great."

Intrigued, Sam stepped a little closer. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The woman looked like she might actually leap out of her skin. "Can you keep a secret?"

Colonel Carter – Queen of Classified – just raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, right," Ellie gushed. "See, I guess I just hadn't been thinking about it because there was so much to do – groceries and planning and cooking. And then I thought it just had to be the stress, but the longer it goes, the more I think it isn't."

"Ellie..."

"I think I'm pregnant," she breathed.

Sam could only stare at her for a moment, shell-shocked, before a matching grin spread across her own face. "Oh, my God. Ellie!" she exclaimed, keeping her voice just as low. "That's amazing."

Just barely containing a squeal, the other woman wrapped her arms tightly around Sam's shoulders and hugged her tightly. "I don't want to tell Mark until I'm sure," she explained. "He'd get all excited and then if I'm wrong..."

"Right." Ellie was clearly already over the moon, and Sam fervently hoped her sister-in-law wouldn't end up disappointed, herself.

"Am I interrupting a girls' moment?"

Both women swung toward the deep voice, terrified that it might be Mark... and found Jack standing in the doorway instead. "Oh, right. Coffee," Sam said quickly, peeling away to head toward the cabinets.

Behind her, Jack and Ellie must have been involved in something of a stare-off, and Sam hoped she'd get that doctor's appointment soon, because it was mere seconds before Ellie bubbled over again. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Even better than I can," Sam reassured her over her shoulder.

"I think we're having another baby," she told him.

The silence that followed was half a second longer than it should have been. "Wow. That's... that great," he said, and while Ellie may have been too excited to miss the hollowness there, Sam wasn't. She swung around, coffee mugs in hand, just in time to catch his expression before Ellie pulled him into a hug, as well.

And he didn't look happy.


	12. Chapter 12

The muscles in Jack's stomach were a little too tight when Sam rolled over in the middle of the night and wrapped an arm around him. Glancing up through half-lidded, sleepy eyes, she found him wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

"What's wrong?" she mumbled sleepily.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

That was obviously a lie, and she meant to wake up and talk to him – really, she did – but the hands gently rubbing her back were so soothing and his body was so warm...

~/~

It was well before Sam opened her eyes the next morning that she realized she was alone. Again. Just to be certain, she cracked one eye open, looking around for anything other than an empty pillow. She found nothing.

"This is getting old," she muttered, pushing herself up a little. She'd never been much for lounging in bed, but she'd always considered a few minutes of cuddling in the morning fairly mandatory. They were going to have to have a serious conversation.

Irritated but unconcerned, Sam grabbed a new set of clothes and showered before heading downstairs for the day. "Morning," she greeted the couple standing in the kitchen.

The looks she got were decidedly wary. "Morning," Mark answered. Ellie, in a massive change of pace, said nothing.

"Uh... Everything okay?" she prodded, finding their somber demeanors more than a little disturbing.

Ellie winced a little. "Actually, we were going to ask _you_ that."

"No," Mark corrected, "Ellie was going to ask you that. I think maybe I should just butt out of this one."

Before Sam could question him further, he disappeared. A small knot forming in her stomach, she asked softly, "Ellie... where's Jack?"

"Out back."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," the other woman insisted, gingerly picking at a fingernail. "But, uh... he's not happy. I thought maybe you two, y'know..."

She shook her head – no idea.

"I thought maybe you two had a fight or something."

"Not unless I talk in my sleep." She'd been going for coffee, but the idea of dumping more acid on top of her suddenly uneasy stomach was no longer appetizing. Heading away from the counter, she slid open the back door and stepped outside.

There he was, sitting in one of the swings. It made an odd picture – a grown man in a seat intended for someone far shorter – but it was the way his shoulders slumped against the chains and Flash lay ten feet away, completely ignored, that bothered her. He didn't look up as she joined him, quietly settling into the other swing.

"I almost built one of these," he said after a moment.

Taken aback, Sam glanced his way, found him avoiding her eyes, and returned her gaze to the ground in front of her.

"A guy down the street built one when his kid turned six, and Charlie thought it was the greatest thing in the world. And I meant to build him one, but the time just flew by and all the sudden he was seven and I just hadn't gotten to it. Sarah was on my case about it all the time," he went on softly. "And I was going to. I made up the plans and everything. And three months before he turned eight, I got deployed. For a long time. I missed that birthday. And the next."

Sam winced, fidgeting a little, and it wasn't because of the swing digging into her hips. She had a fairly good idea where the story was going and wished with all her might that she could change the ending.

"Things were rough when I got back," he explained, "and I was trying my damndest to make it right. It took a little while, but I got all the tools and the lumber and everything. I even poured the footings." Silence stretched a long moment before he added, little more than a breath, "And then he was gone."

He'd never talked to her about Charlie's death, and she had no idea what to say. She'd never had a child, much less lost one – she could never understand that pain or know the right words for someone who'd been through it. "I'm sorry," she told him softly.

He shrugged. "This was everything I wanted, once. A yard, a swing set... a dog. A _family_. And after he died, I gave it all up. I never thought I'd want that again, but being here – seeing them..."

She felt more than saw him turn toward her and had to hold back a gasp as she met his eyes. They were open – completely unguarded – in a way she'd never seen, everything he'd lost laid bare. "I am crazy about you," he pressed. "And if this isn't what you want, then... then I guess I'll have to live with that. But I do. And I needed you to know."

It wasn't often that Sam found herself completely at a loss, but she had no idea what to say to that. They'd kissed for the first time only two days before, and the idea that he was planning their entire future was more than a little frightening – though, she had to admit, far less scary than it probably should have been. Than it had been with Pete.

And she'd wanted all that, too – once. Before the Goa'uld, the Ori. Before the world had gotten so damned complicated and she was suddenly pushing forty and he was far older than that. Before their work had overtaken everything and _become _everything and cost them so very, very much.

And yet there was a part of her that desperately wanted to dive into his arms and tell him in true soap opera star fashion that yes, she wanted to have his children. But this wasn't a soap opera – or a movie – and happy endings weren't guaranteed.

"I've never really been a dog person," she said.

His entire body slowly deflated with a heavy sigh as he looked away. "Yeah. I know."

"And the timing's pretty crappy, all things considered."

He nodded.

"But they say that cats and babies don't mix, right? So I guess the dog will have to grow on me."

It was an eternity before his head made it the quarter turn to look her in the eye. "Is that a _yes_?" he asked in disbelief.

"It's way too early to discuss the ramifications of 'yes' yet," she insisted. "And there are things that have to be taken care of first. Like the Ori."

Again, he nodded. "But..."

Reaching over, she grabbed the chain of his swing and used it to pull herself toward him. "Someday."

A goofy grin spread across his face as he wrapped his lower legs around hers, locking them together. It was only by the grace of the child-size seat stuck to her hips that the motion didn't pull her straight out of the swing, but her alarm quickly faded as his lips found hers. "I love you," he murmured between kisses. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too," she answered, the words garbled by the fact that he refused to let go of her bottom lip, "and we should leave."

"Hmm?" His mouth trailed fire down her jawline, and she subconsciously tipped her head back to give him access.

"Yeah, we should definitely leave," she moaned.

"Why?"

"Because." Gently grabbing his hair, she pulled his head back to look him in the eye. "The sooner we go, the sooner we can get somewhere _else_."

"Oh. _Ohh_." Abruptly, he let her legs go, sending her swinging helter-skelter. He didn't seem to notice. "I'll call the base and have them pick up the car. It'll save time."

"Good plan." Planting a foot in the dirt, she had to wait a moment for the jerky ride to stop. "I'll round up the family for goodbyes."

She was halfway to the house before he stopped her. "Uh, Carter?"

"Yeah?"

He hadn't moved, still crouched in the tiny swing. "I'm stuck."

Sam just rolled her eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

The motel wasn't exactly seedy, though it was certainly run-down – faded paint, dirty windows, middle of nowhere.

It was one of the most beautiful things Jack had ever seen.

He pulled the bike up near the small office building (a shack, really), and took the helmet Carter handed him as she stepped off. Considering that the parking lot was all but empty, it didn't take her long to secure a room; as she stepped back outside, she flashed Jack three fingers.

The motorcycle beat her to the room, its low rumble cutting through the open plain. He cut the engine and coasted into a parking spot before leaving the bike to situate himself in front of the door labeled "3" in peeling blue paint.

The anticipation had been building since the moment they'd pulled out of her brother's driveway. No – long before that, and the slight swagger in her hips as she crossed the parking lot, dangling a set of keys in her hand, was nearly his undoing. She was the most incredible, beautiful, intelligent woman he'd ever known, and the thought that he was about to make love to her...

She had no more than stepped up onto the curb when he yanked her forcefully into his arms, his mouth sinking to nibble at the soft, tender flesh on the side of her neck. Strong hands spun and lifted her, pressing her lithe frame against the locked door, and every muscle in his body jerked a little as she wrapped her legs around his hips and rocked hard against him.

Pinning her with his body weight and right hand, the left chased her arm up and liberated the key ring tangled in her fingers. It occurred to him vaguely that they were bordering on indecent and that the clerk was probably watching them through the window, but his neurons were far too occupied with trying to get a proper grip on the key one-handed while his face was buried in Carter's neck and she was moaning and tugging at his jacket to really care. Finally, he managed to flip the key around and jabbed it somewhere in the general direction of the doorknob.

Metal hit metal. Score.

Her fingers made their way beneath the back of his jacket to tease the skin just above his jeans before slipping under the waistband. It was a request he understood well, and he jerked his hips hard enough into her to elicit a gasp. He was smug about that for around half a second... until he realized that the key wasn't going into the lock because it was upside down. "Dammit," he muttered into her neck, earning a giggle.

The process of flipping the key over blind and one-handed was only made more difficult when she wrapped a fist in his hair and pulled his head away from her neck. Her lips hit his hard, her tongue insistent. Before he knew it, he had all but forgotten about the key and the door and the fact that they were two seconds away from public nudity.

And he'd sure as hell forgotten about the physics of it all. A final turn of the key sent the door flying open suddenly under their combined weight, and she squeaked (he'd never heard her scream) a little before laughing again, dropping her own feet to the ground to keep them upright.

Her fingers were at the button of his jeans before they'd even cleared the door frame. And, as he drove her back toward the mattress, Jack just barely remembered to kick the door shut.


	14. Chapter 14

It didn't take long to unload their things – two saddlebags and their packs strapped to the back of the bike – and Sam was carefully removing the box of ornaments from her bag when two strong arms encircled her and a warm mouth sank to her neck. Chuckling, she shrugged him off. "We just got home."

"Mmm, I know," Jack murmured against her skin. "And I've been a good boy all day long."

"Only because messing around on a motorcycle would have ended poorly for both of us." Leaving the ornaments on the kitchen table, she stepped out of his arms again and headed for the blinking answering machine.

_You have four new messages._

"Three guesses who they're from," Sam mused as the machine recited the date and time of the first.

"Don't care." Gentle but insistent hands turned and lifted her, parking her on the counter top.

_Hey, Sam, it's Daniel. Just, ah, wanted to let you I'm home. And I figured you're getting back sometime today, so... give me a call. Bye._

"I should call him."

Jack moved between her knees, his lips gently brushing against hers before traveling along her jaw to that place beneath her ear that made her breath catch. "Let's go investigate your bedroom instead."

_Hey, Sam, it's Daniel. Thought you might be home by now, but, ah, guess not. I'll talk to you when you get in. Give me a call. Bye._

"Damn, he's nosy." The message went mostly ignored as Jack's fingers tugged her shirt free of her jeans. "You. Me. Bed. Now."

_Uh, hey, Sam. It's me. I'd, um, try your cell phone, but I know you can't hear it on the road. I thought we might get dinner or something. Just let me know._

With a growl, Jack pulled back a little. "What the hell is his problem?"

"He worries about me on the bike," Sam explained as the machine beeped again.

_Hey, Sam, it's about six-thirty. I was really sure you'd be home by now, and I haven't heard from you, so, um... give me a call. Really. I just need to know you're not dead on the side of the road somewhere, huh? Just call me. Please._

Knowing Jack wouldn't let her down without a fight, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. "Are you kidding me?" her lover groaned.

"One quick phone call," she defended. At his growl, she pressed, "Real life had to intrude sometime."

"Not yet! Dammit, there are four hours between now and the official end of Thanksgiving weekend, and I fully intend to take advantage of them." Petulantly, he yanked her hips closer to his and began to nibble the skin on her neck.

"Only four?" she asked, granting him better access despite herself. "So I shouldn't look forward to an encore of this morning?"

"Put down the damn phone and I'll give you something to look-"

"Hey, Sam!"

Yanking away, Jack scowled at her – silently. For cryin' out loud, she'd put the man on _speaker phone_?

She just grinned at him. "Hi, Daniel. Got your messages."

"Oh. Yeah." The archaeologist was clearly trying to play off his concern and then incredible relief at hearing her voice. "How was your trip?"

Her thin, delicate fingers intertwined with Jack's. "It was great. Yours?"

"Fantastic. Actually, we found a device I've been wanting to ask you about. It's already sitting in your lab."

Jack's face went dark, and she waved him off with a smile – no, she wasn't about to run off to the base. "I'll make it a priority tomorrow."

Somewhat soothed, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"So, listen," the phone voice went on, "Teal'c and I were planning a late dinner to catch up before work tomorrow. Chinese? Italian? Your place?"

The lips froze. Sam knew, as he drew back, exactly what he was thinking – Jack _obviously_ had plans for their night together. She had to bow out, but how? Lie? Tell him the truth? They hadn't discussed what to tell the others yet. "Actually, Daniel," she said, carefully watching the man in front of her, "I have plans. I, uh, kind of brought something home from California."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Hi, Daniel."

The silence that descended was thick. It lasted long enough that Sam was about to check the connection when the other man finally managed, "Jack?"

"Yup."

"What were you doing in California?"

It was Jack who let the silence linger that time until the archaeologist said, rather sheepishly, "Oh."

"Yes," the older man said. "Oh."

"I... see. Well, then, I imagine you two don't particularly want company tonight, so... we can all catch up tomorrow. Since there's apparently a lot to catch up on."

Sam managed a cringe just seconds before Jack's chin hit his chest. He hadn't made it to Colorado Springs in months – hadn't seen any of them – and this time... "Actually," he said softly, "I have to fly back first thing."

"Oh."

One irritated hand scrubbed through the hair on the back of his neck. "You know what? Get something from that Thai place. Bring Teal'c."

To both their surprise, Daniel laughed. Hard. "Oh, hell, no. It'd be nice to see you, Jack, but there's no way I'm stepping into the middle of that. Besides," he went on, "I get the distinct feeling you're going to be in town a lot more often now."

"Absolutely." And it was a promise, sealed with a gentle kiss that carried through the phone – and they didn't care. "You're a good man, Daniel."

"Have a safe flight. And Sam? One favor?"

"Yes?" she answered, a bit uneasy.

"When you tell Teal'c, I wanna see the look on his face."

The request made them both grin. "Goodnight, Daniel."

Jack's lips sank to her neck even as he confiscated the phone and sent it skidding across the counter, out of reach. The fingers that went confidently for Sam's shirt buttons made her giggle.

"Determined, are we?"

"Well," he grunted against her skin, "Daniel gave us all this perfectly usable alone time. I'd hate to waste it." But as his mouth made its way up to her ear, he murmured, "Carter?"

"Yeah?"

"This is the best Thanksgiving I've had in... a really long time."

Voice thick, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder before whispering, "Me, too."

"Next weekend, we'll get you a Christmas tree. It'll be a week late for decorating, but..."

"Sounds great."

Pulling back to take her face gently in his hands, he asked, "Any other vital holiday rules I need to know about? Crazy traditions? Superstitions?"

"None that I can think of at the moment. Not 'til Christmas, anyway. For now," she said, a glint in her eye, "I think we should go to bed and make some traditions of our own."

Jack wrinkled his nose. "Nah. On second thought, maybe we should just-"

"Oh, shut up," Sam scolded with a grin, "and come to bed."

"Yes, ma'am."


End file.
